when i was a little girl, my sisters and i spent a lot of time with my grandmother, my Grabbie. Grabbie always had extra knitting needles in her bag, and one of our favorite activities involved *conducting* the Boston Pops along with arthur fiedler. we would twirl about the living room and direct the musicians with wild abandon.
when we thought we had grown too old for PBS and classical music, Grabbie gave us yarn and tried to teach us the intracacies of casting on stitches. what seemed effortless in her skilled hands, was an insurmountable challenge for us. sitting and puzzling over dropped stitches could not hold our attention the way that Mr. Fiedler and his Pops had. those shimmering needles were tucked safely back into Grabbie's knitting bag, and my sisters and i got on with the busy-ness of being teenagers, young adults, mothers.
Grabbie passed away on tuesday, at the wonderful age of 93 and three quarters.
on wednesday, i bought a pair of knitting needles and cast on a row of stitches. i haven't stopped since then.
jack looks over my shoulder. he tries his hand at a few stitches, swiftly losing interest after a few moments. i don't have an extra pair for him to use as a conducter's baton. yet.
jack asks if i will be knitting forever.
i hope so, i reply. i wish i hadn't waited this long to start.